


dulce et decorum..

by viktorsasshole



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Klangst Week 2018, M/M, WW2 AU, based off a poem, im sorry, klance, no one dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-07 03:06:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14662020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viktorsasshole/pseuds/viktorsasshole
Summary: keith sees the most beautiful soldier ever when running away from the gas bombs(based off the poem Dulce et decorum by Owen Wilson)





	dulce et decorum..

**Author's Note:**

> i hope this doesn’t offend anyone??

Dulce et decorum est  
Pro patria mori.

 

A saying my stupid father would always mutter to me. “It is sweet and proper to die for your country”. He fought in World War One, but was badly injured and was left crippled. He hobbled around with a oak stick, his wobbly knees; he looked like an old hag out of a fairy tail the way he walked with his back hunched over.

An odd bloke, he is, not going to lie. Obsessed with the idea of young men dying on the battlefield for their country, he thinks it’s an honour. What an outrageous idea!The old chap is not all there in the head of you ask me.

Yet, I thought he was until the war broke out. I still remember the dreadful day, my mother gasping and bursting into tears as she read the newspaper. My eyes widened as the disembodied voice of the man on the radio, announcing that America had joined in on the fun. Had joined in on this delightful game called World War Two, where people were slaughtered, genocide on the Jews; oh dear lord it was a horrendous nightmare. I just hopelessly wished for it to be over. But it never came true.

In my opinion, Roosevelt was a daft bloke, dragging the Americans into this cruel mess. But who am I to comment on that? I’m just a young American boy, tired and angry by the name of Keith Kogane. 

 

And I was drafted into the war.

 

There I was, marching onto the battle field with a parade of soldiers, dear father aren’t you proud? Your young son that you sent off into the war, your dear son...  
What a lie, you old bastard! Why am I here? “Dulce et decorum est  
Pro patria mori.  
Dulce et decorum est  
Pro patria mori...”  
I whispered to myself, but I couldn’t believe that old saying that was a fib.  
Bombs exploded behind us, in front of us, I ran. We ran. This soldier I couldn’t identify and me. Dear me, I didn’t care where he was from as long as he wasn’t a nazi. I fumbled and quickly threw the oversized gasmask onto my head, and the mystery soldier did the same. We ran, sprinted, until we were in the safety of the mucky trenches. 

We weren’t exactly safe, but we were away from the bombs and the death and the men foaming at the mouth, their eyes rolling back into their head because they couldn’t put their masks on in time and-

The soldier took his mask off. Oh dear god was it safe? But fuck.He was gorgeous. I mean beautiful. I mean, I’m not one of them damn homosexuals! But why am I thinking like this? It’s a sin!

But this boy, his caramel skin and piercing blue eyes that witnessed a million deaths in this brutality. His plump lips. And even though his skin was dirty from the gunpowder, and there was dried blood matted into his oak locks, 

 

He was stunning.

He must have caught me staring, as he gave me a weak smile. “My names Lance” he muttered. 

“Keith” I found myself softly answering back, still lost in his sapphire eyes.

He looked like he had seen his comrades die. Maybe that blood in his hair didn’t belong to him. The poor boy looked only around 17, yet he’d seen so much horror. And I found myself thinking, We are fucking kids! Only seventeen, caught up in this sheer violence.

 

I found my self feeling so guilty. I wanted to comfort this poor boy. I don’t know what came over me, but I found myself reaching out to squeeze his hand to comfort him. He looked at me but didn’t say anything, but he must have understood that I was trying to comfort him and squeezed back. 

We were only kids, and we just needed something to comfort us through this nightmare.

And even though terrible bombs were exploding all around us, and nazi aircraft noisily flew above us, and soldiers were dying all around us,

 

I couldn’t help but weakly smile at this beautiful boy, as he held my hand and I held his, and absurdly, I found myself thinking-

 

Dulce et decorum est  
Pro patria mori.


End file.
